


Say Goodbye to Sorry

by enemyfrigate



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemyfrigate/pseuds/enemyfrigate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right now One Two thinks that a lot of things he thinks - used to think - are pretty idiotic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Goodbye to Sorry

Long fucking scary day, with near death at least three times that One Two can count, and revelations, and being saved, and Bob is here at the end of the night, still watching out for One Two.

“I’m sorry,” One Two says.

“For what?” Handsome Bob is driving with one hand, sitting back, scanning the streets around them. Alert, in spite of the last few days. Or maybe because of it all.

That’s his job. He gets everyone home and safe. He walks slack for One Two and Mumbles. He’s the best.

More, he’s the best mate One Two has ever had, been that for years, since they were banged up together for a bit of youthful offending.

“I’m sorry I was an arsehole when you didn’t get sent down,” One Two says.

Maybe he would have been less of a wanker about Handsome Bob being queer if Bob mattered less to him. Maybe he wouldn’t have panicked about having sex with Bob that night if it didn’t feel, for a few seconds, so right.

Right now One Two thinks that a lot of things he thinks - used to think - are pretty idiotic. Nearly being carved up by Chechen war criminals will do that to you.

One Two has loved Bob without reservation for years - years and years and years - and he’s never loved a woman like that. He’s tried, but he’s never been able to match the emotion he feels for Handsome Bob - especially Bob - and Mumbles.

“Nah, it’s alright,” Handsome Bob says. “It was a shock. Me telling you. And then what we did. I don‘t want you to worry yourself, alright?”

“Well, I shouldn’t have been thinking about myself. So I’m going to say I’m sorry. About what you told me. And about being an arse after.”

“Yeah, you owe me a celebration. Tomorrow night, boyo,” Handsome says. “We’ll go out and tear it up.”

“What about you and me, right now?”

“What?”

Good thing they’re stopped at a corner, because Bob slews around to face him. He’s known One Two so long, knows him so well, that he can’t mistake that. One Two sees hope in his face, but then he shutters it.

“You don’t owe me anything, mate. Thanks and all, but you did what I asked and I’m grateful,” Bob says.

“I’m serious.”

“Don’t fuck with me, man. Leave it.” Bob turns his attention back to the road.

Before he can put the car back in gear, One Two grabs Handsome Bob’s jaw and mashes their mouths together. There’s a moment of astonished stillness from Bob, then he’s taking over the kiss, coaxing One Two to open up to him. Bob grips the back of One Two’s neck, and then One Two is half falling out of the passenger seat, the steering wheel the only obstacle between him and Handsome Bob’s lap.

His bruises and aches shout for attention, but One Two is happy to ignore them. After the day he’s had, he doesn’t care for much, can’t fathom how this, with Bob, how this didn’t make sense to him a few days ago.

The driver behind them leans on the horn.

A frustrated noise from Bob, and he puts One Two back a few inches.

“Your place,” One Two says, and falls into his seat.

Bob nods, pulls away from the corner like normal, but One Two can see him breathing harder.

One Two is getting hard just from watching Bob staring straight at the road, as if looking over at One Two is some kind of a problem.

 

Handsome Bob has one of those industrial lofts, the kind that people with more money than personality get because it makes them look sophisticated or something to live somewhere rough looking. The loft suits Bob, though, reminding One Two more of a lived in garage with comfortable furniture than some kind of showplace.

Like Bob, the place is hard where it needs to be, welcoming in others. He doesn’t have much clutter hanging about. The old Triumph motorbike Bob’s been restoring has its own corner, the television is huge, the sofa sinful, and One Two knows it all well, all except the bed behind the waved glass divider.

He just got intimate with that bed a few nights ago, the night he thought he never wanted.

The hell with that. One Two wants what he wants, and he’s not going to waste his time thinking otherwise, not this time. Not ever again.

Somehow, the dancing had been more unnerving than the sex. Bob had asked for a dance, had wanted just to get close to him. One Two had started the fooling around. He’d made up his mind driving Bob home, realizing that Bob would be lost to him for years come the morning. He wasn’t going to let Bob’s reluctance to ask rob his mate of something he wanted.

So. Not just dancing. One Two doesn’t remember as much of that night as he’d now like to. Maybe being with Bob again will remind him.

Bob tosses his jacket at the sofa, locks up with one hand, all the while watching One Two as if he’s maybe going to disappear into smoke.

One Two unbuttons his shirt. He should build a shrine with that shirt, he thinks: wearing it, he safely delivered over a million stolen pounds to a woman in a public place; had sex with that same woman; been taken captive and tied down by Chechen war criminals and survived; been taken captive by Archy and his henchmen, and survived; discovered the identity of the grass; gotten his life saved; saved Johnny’s life; and, oh, yes, convinced Handsome Bob to take him to bed again.

Right. A shrine. Later. Right now he doesn’t care what happens to it, so he drops it on the floor.

Bob yanks his tee shirt over his head. He looks One Two over.

“Go ahead. Don‘t make me wait,” One Two says. He grabs Bob’s wrist and pulls his hand against his own chest. Bob steps up and closes the air between them. One Two forgets sometimes that Bob is made purely of muscle, but the arms around him are nothing like a woman’s, and the body he wraps his own arms about is solid. One Two has to lean down to kiss Bob, but he’s used to that.

From Bob’s practiced head tilt, One Two gathers that Bob isn’t unused to a taller lover.

One Two hates that idea. He slides his hands down Bob’s back, forces himself to not hesitate, and places his hands firmly on Bob’s arse. Tries to grab him closer.

Bob laughs, low, and, and dangerous. He winds his hands into One Two’s hair, and gets impossible closer, and kisses One Two like he’s the boss.

Fireworks spark off in One Two’s - soul? - because they’re happening all over his body, and in his brain - and Bob is pulling away and taking him by the waistband of his trousers and leading him towards the bed.

One Two stumbles after him. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, even after that one night, but kissing and getting naked and rolling around sound good, and Bob will just have to figure out the rest.

They reach the bed and Bob has One Two’s trousers open and is letting them fall around his ankles. He palms One Two’s cock through his pants, and One Two gets harder.

Bob looks down at the bulge in his hand, then traces his gaze up his chest, like he owns One Two.

“Get on the bed,” Bob says. One Two scrambles to obey. Bob yanks One Two’s shoes off, drags his trousers all the way down, takes care of One Two’s socks.

“Take off your pants,” Bob says. “I want to watch.”

One Two slides off his pants, can’t stop the flush of his chest and throat at Bob’s hunger for him, direct and unapologetic.

“Gorgeous,” Bob murmurs. He’s still wearing jeans and trainers.  
“Never got to properly look before.”

“You looked. You know you looked,” One Two says.

“Not with permission,” Bob says, eyes heavy lidded. He shoves One Two’s foot to the side, giving him room to crawl between One Two’s legs. He plants his hands on either side of One Two’s hips, caging him, then leans down and licks up One Two’s cock.

One Two grabs at the bedclothes. That’s his best mate down there, that’s Handsome Bob, and fuck, he knows what he’s doing.

The fucking tease.

“Hey,” One Two says, “stop being a prick. Get up here where I can get my hands on you, you bastard.”

Bob engulfs the head of One Two’s cock, mouth seemingly on fire, and One Two drops his head back, breathes, “Fuck.”

One Two scrabbles at Bob’s close cut hair, feeling for his skull. “Get. Up. Here. And get those fucking trousers off.”

Bob takes in more of One Two’s cock and works the underside with his tongue.

One Two aims a half-hearted smack at his head.

Bob rolls his eyes, lets go of One Two’s cock. He reaches down and works his trainers off without bothering to untie them. One Two reaches for Bob’s flies, but Bob shoves his hand away. Drags the zip of his tight jeans down over the bulge of his hard-on, skims off his black boxer briefs.

One Two takes advantage of his greater size and pins Bob down to the bed. “Let me look at you.”

Bob arches and stretches under One Two’s hands, and One Two leans back and stares.

Fuck, but Bob is gorgeous. ‘Handsome’ isn’t enough for how he looks to One Two right now.

It doesn’t seem strange at all to reach for Bob’s cock. Doesn’t feel odd when Bob gasps and wraps his leg around One Two’s calf, heaves them over.

Bob pushes back just enough to reach between them, find One Two’s cock.

Somehow, they work around each other, with each other. Team fucking, or something. One Two props himself on an elbow so he can work Bob’s cock, glad he knows this, at least, by heart. If he had to think, well, he couldn’t, not once Bob is working him, too.

Bob breathes hard into One Two’s shoulder, eyes closing. One Two wants to kiss him but he can’t really reach, and he’s so fucking close to coming, so close. Bob shifts, his shoulder moves, and One Two has to take a second to figure out what just changed, because that’s his own hand half-finding his own cock, and Bob’s hand moving, and both cocks push together.

When One Two comes, the world is erased, all he cares to know is the shock of orgasm, the sudden pain as his hips push up hard and awkward into their tangled hands. All he can smell and feel and see is Bob, who is pushing his cock into One Two’s hand, fucking his palm, hard and fast, like he’s been babying One Two along until now.

One Two pushes his hand against Bob’s cock, resisting the thick head’s glide, giving him something to really fuck against, and a handful to shoves later Bob comes, right into One Two’s palm.

Bob bites sharp into One Two’s shoulder, a sound something like a howl breaking against his skin.

One Two collapses all the way back on the bed. Bob flops over next to him.

After a moment, Bob takes One Two’s hand.

One Two doesn’t feel strange at all. He feels fantastic.

He felt fantastic the other night, too, until he started thinking about things.

“That was better than last time,” One Two says.

“Sorry. I was a bit off my game the other night.”

“Idiot. I meant I was better, alright?”

Bob turns on his shoulder, facing One Two. “You’re amazing any time."

He's not just talking about fucking.

One Two can’t think about what he almost threw away. “I hope I keep living up to your standards, Bobby.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You just have to be you, alright? All I ever wanted was you, as you are.”

It’s fucking humbling to be loved that much.

Bigger than being rescued from the Chechens, bigger than getting away from Lenny alive, a fuck of a lot bigger than earning all that scratch back after Lenny fucked them on the building.

This right here, this is the biggest second chance One Two has ever gotten.

“Don’t let me fuck this up,” One Two says.

“Always got your back, One Two.”

Maybe that’s what love is. Maybe One Two’s had it wrong all his life.  
Maybe all you can ask for is a lover who comes running when things go pear shaped, a partner who forgives your mistakes, and fills in all your lacks.

That’s a lot to ask, but if anyone can do it, One Two, he’ll lay his bets on Handsome Bob.


End file.
